A Brief Interlude
by themanofonebook
Summary: What happened between the act of goodness of one Jean Valjean on the barricade that June night and the exeunt of Inspector Javert. Contains barricade boy death. Request fill.


**Book Third. - Mud but the Soul Chapter I.V - What Was Not Seen Between the Apprehension of One Jean Valjean and the Exeunt of Inspector Javert**

It is well-known that, after being released from the barricade, Inspector Javert, First Class, Paris, exhausted after a night of standing at attention tethered to a pole, made his way to the station-house on the Place du Chatelet, where which was left a most curious note of both resignation and admonishment, and proceeded to disappear into the darkness of the night, from which he did not emerge.

One might also know that, beforehand, said inspector was released from the barricade at the Rue Saint-Martin and the Rue Saint-Dennis, by a person with whom the inspector was quite close - if one would go so far as to label them as such, but the truth of the statement stands firm.

And, should the reader be particularly well-informed, they might also be privy to the fact that Inspector Javert, after being released and before being claimed by the unforgiving waters of the Seine, apprehended a certain Jean Valjean after pursuing Monsieur Thénardier through the sewer system under Paris.

What you have not been given insight to, and the humble other doth beg your forgiveness, is what happened between the release of Javert from the barricade, his meeting with Valjean at the mouth of the sewer, and his removal of himself from the world of the living.

What happened was thus:

Enjolras, also known as Apollo, also known as the leader of the resistance, stood atop the barricade, hand in hand with Grantaire, also known as R, who had just woken from his nap in the café Musain. The soldiers of the National Guard, standing at the base of the barricade, lifted their guns and fired; and, hand in hand, the students fell; Enjolras clutching his flag and remaining standing, leaning against one wall, the smile plain on his face; Grantaire curled at his feet, blood dribbling down into the ruined furniture.

'Twas the splash of red across the landscape of the night which caught the inspector's eye; the red of Enjolras's flag. Intrigued, and feeling dread begin to twist in the pit of his stomach, Javert stepped closer, that perverse curiosity at the forefront of his mind.

Upon seeing the face of Apollo, the dread coalesced into a hard ball in the pit of the inspector's being; and Javert, who had seen much death in his time, who had lived through Napoleon's rule and the Reign of Terror before that, turned and vomited up the sparse contents of his stomach upon the broken cobblestones. There was a moisture on his face, and he passed it off to the night air, then checked his mind; Javert, torn asunder as he was by the forgiveness of his prey, was still an honest man, and he would not lie, even to himself. He raised a gloved hand, removed the leather and touched his cheek; it came away wet and salty. He brushed it across his lip, if only to confirm his suspicion, and the sting at the split in his mouth was all the assurance he required.

Javert was a servant of the State; his duty was to his position, and to the citizens of France; he knew, despite his attempts to remove himself from his own humanity, to turn his heart from tissue to wood to stone, that he was undeniably mortal; thus, his existence was to be devoted to the continuation of the prosperity of France. To see young, brilliant lives snuffed in the silence of the night, and to know that these boys would not be remembered anymore than he would, that their faces would pass from the memory of the people, sickened him to his core. He abhorred all types of rebellion, you know this, reader; but to have drawn glee from the sight of these students felled in the prime of their being would have been beyond even him. The inspector was not cruel, he was merely blind.

But he was not blind to the trickling of blood down Enjolras's forehead, and the sight snapped something within him.

The moment, hung by a spiderweb, was shattered by a scuffling at the corner of the street. Bulldog that he was, Javert's head whipped up, just in time to catch a small, piggy man disappearing around the corner. His lips curled upwards, baring large, straight teeth - his shift was not yet ended, this man was his to pursue.

And there was still the matter of Jean Valjean to be attended to.

So Javert left, departing the barricade for the second time that night; taking with him the guilt and shame of having been involved in this senseless spectacle of bloodshed and murder; fine cracks in the rock that would eventually drive it to spiral out of all control; to explode into a million pieces which could only be washed away by the river.

For now, a heavy peace hung over the barricade.

Let us return to the sewers of Paris.


End file.
